.

So many times it happens too fast
You trade your passion for glory
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive


Chapter 22: Revelations


Far away, an ambulance siren rang out, its shrill song oscillating. The men in the metal suits were gone now, but Sherry couldn't quite remember when they'd disappeared - in fact, she started to doubt whether it had happened at all. Footsteps pounded outside, crescendoing as they reached the end of the concrete hallway. Scott, Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski, and Deaton swung into the room, silent and apprehensive. Sherry realized that Ms. Martin was no longer in the room, an improvement she hadn't quite registered until then.

Immediately, Stiles approached Malia, a questioning look in his eyes that reflected those of the other two.

"It wasn't me," Malia first blurted. Scott knelt down next to Tracy, examining her.

"What the hell happened to her?" the sheriff breathed.

"There were these people," Malia stammered, "They had masks. There- there were three of them."

"What- what are you talking about?" Stiles murmured. Sherry had the sense that he didn't believe her.

"They were strong, Stiles," Malia pleaded, a desperate look on her face. "They had a weapon; Stiles, I didn't do this!"

"I saw it," Sherry affirmed, attracting attention toward herself for the first time.

The sheriff's eyes widened. "Are you hurt?" When Sherry shook her head no, he offered a hand to help her up. She grasped his arm gratefully, letting him pull her to standing. As she shot up, she was hit by a sudden nausea, likely from the blow to her head. She nearly fell over again, but she leaned against the cement wall and tried to shake it off.

"She's not changing back," Deaton said from Tracy's side, turning over the girl's head and forearms with focused attention. "We're going to need to get her out of here."

"What?" the sheriff retorted. "Hey, absolutely not." Everyone gaped at him. "This is a crime scene," he explained in an authoritative tone. "We call the coroner."

"I think the coroner might be very confused by this girl's severed reptilian tail," Deaton countered.

"I don't care!"

"You should," Deaton continued. "Unless you're prepared to hold a press conference announcing the presence of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills."

Sherry couldn't understand why the Sheriff was arguing this now, what made him decide to start intervening. Stiles agreed. "Dad, he's right."

"There's a line," the sheriff started. Sherry could almost detect a flicker of doubt. "There is a line we have to draw."

"Dad, you've already crossed it," Stiles reasoned. "More than once."

He looked torn.

"Sheriff, please," Deaton said. "Let me help. I've dealt with things like this before."

Sheriff Stilinski faltered. Sighing, he relented, "Just do it fast."

Deaton nodded and lifted Tracy up. He nodded to Scott, tossing him a ring of keys. "Unlock my car."

The two of them rushed from the room.

Timidly, Sherry turned to Stiles and his father. "Is Lydia okay?"

"She always survives," Stiles said, but the worry tinging his voice only made Sherry more scared.

"I need to see if she's okay," Sherry said, and darted for the stairs. As she took a step, she stumbled and her vision blurred. She tilted sideways, knocking into the door.

"Sherry!" the sheriff exclaimed.

She blinked, trying to clear her foggy vision as she righted herself and kept going. "I'm fine," she called as she raced up the stairs.

When she got to the main lobby, she saw that paramedics were loading Lydia into the ambulance while Ms. Martin held her hand. Sherry wasn't sure who that reassured more, Lydia or her panic-stricken mother.

Clark watched the process as well, a somewhat stupefied expression on her face. Kira and someone familiar stood by the ambulance, whispering. As Sherry ran toward them, the ambulance started up and sped away.

"How is she?" Sherry gasped, panting. She stared at Kira, whose face was paler than usual.

"Lydia will be okay." It wasn't Kira who answered, though. Sherry looked up and was startled by the face she saw. The boy with the pretty hair from AP Bio. She'd already forgotten his name.

"You?" she blinked, confused. "What are you doing here?" The question was directed more to Kira than to him, as though silently asking how, and what, this boy knew.

"I came to help," he said.

Looking forlorn, Kira watched the ambulance disappear as Stiles, Malia, and the sheriff appeared from the basement. Scott came running back then, too, as Deaton drove away with Tracy.

Stiles pulled his keys out of his back pocket, his hand jittery. "Let's go."


The group of them arrived at the hospital not long after.

"Stiles," Mrs. McCall said, greeting them in her sea-foam green nurse's scrubs.

The boy looked up, anxiously twisting his hands together. "How bad is it?"

"Could've been worse," she answered curtly, turning to pretty hair boy. "Theo, nice going on that tourniquet."

Sherry remembered. Theo. He'd said his name on the first day of school, yet for some reason it had blanked from her mind. And hadn't Liam told her about Stiles being suspicious of some Theo? The two boys had stalked him for a whole evening to see if he would do anything suspicious.

"You probably saved her life," Mrs. McCall continued. She sighed and looked around at the seven of them (Liam had just joined the party, and the sheriff had stayed at the station to clean up). Lowering her voice, she said, "Alright. She's about to go into surgery, so it's going to be a while." She was even softer now, wary of anyone that might eavesdrop. "Any other supernatural details that I need to know about, or do we just stitch her up and hope for the best?"

"It was the tail," Kira said. Sherry's heart sank. How could a hospital treat a goring from magical, toxic reptilian tail?

"Yeah, Tracy cut her with the tail, if that makes a difference," Scott affirmed.

"Okay," Mrs. McCall nodded, and headed back to attend Lydia.

Malia fidgeted uncomfortably. "But it wasn't just Tracy," she said. "There were others. The guys in the masks."

Sherry couldn't see how that actually related to Lydia's injury, but she agreed anyway. "They were in metal suits and said Tracy's condition was terminal."

Stiles pressed his lips together and glanced between them, still unconvinced.


In bio the next morning, the students were assigned the classic strawberry DNA lab. Sherry, as per class custom, worked with the boy next to her - whose name she'd already forgotten, to her embarrassment - and was openly thankful that she didn't have to be stuck with Stiles or Fred, like last year. This boy knew exactly what he was doing and wasn't persnickety about it either. He carried charming small talk through the entire lab time, making little jokes here and there about the subject, like a good-natured quip about whether the strawberry's DNA would taste as sweet as the fruit it came from, since it was the core of the strawberry's being, anyway. Sherry responded that it probably wouldn't, since they'd put in dish-washing fluid to distill the DNA. And, just as Stiles and Fred had thrown Sherry hostile looks before, the boy offered her small compliments now. He noted how fast it had taken her to write out most of the pre-lab and how organized her data tables were. He even said she was amazingly interesting to talk to.

When Sherry called to Scott to borrow an extra cheesecloth (and gave him a high five upon seeing how well he and Kira were doing so far), her lab partner casually asked if she knew Scott.

Once the lab was all wrapped up and the tables were cleaned, Mrs. Finch paced at the front of the room, gearing up for the last leg of her signature lecture before the bell. For some reason, Sherry noticed, teachers at this school had almost a revulsion to the use of PowerPoint presentations and whiteboards.

"If 99.9% of our DNA sequence is the same as other humans, what could account for the missing 0.1% difference?" Mrs. Finch finally began, as suddenly as ever. "Sherry?"

Sherry sat up straighter and tore her gaze away from the perfect hair of the boy beside her. "Um, nucleotides."

"That's right," she conceded. Her gray eyes flicked to a raised hand in the front row. "Yes, Kira?"

"Can there be more than one species in the same DNA?"

"No," she said, "But there can be multiple sets of DNA in the same individual. We call that a chimera." She turned her attention back to the rest of the class, her bird-of-prey eyes hovering briefly on each fidgeting student. "Anyone know where that term comes from? Sydney?"

"Greek mythology," the girl said, peeking occasionally at something hidden under the table. "It's a lion with a goat coming out of its back and a tail that ends in the head of a snake."

"That's right, Sydney." Then, wryly, she smiled. "Do you want to read us the full Wikipedia entry off your phone?"

Sydney's eyes widened and she hastily stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

"But," Mrs. Finch continued, "That does get us into the next topic of mutation. As you know from the reading, DNA is a fragile molecule." Once again, she picked out an unsuspecting student victim. "Isn't it, Scott? Or did you miss last night's assigned reading?"

"Kind of," he said, and Sherry's heart plummeted. She hadn't even considered lately what a toll the recent supernatural events were taking on his grades. Didn't he want to become a vet? Go to UC Davis?

"Kind of or yes?" the teacher pressed, and Sherry stared at her, her eyes hardening.

"Mostly yes."

"Well, then thank you for another helpful transition in topic. Drop forms." She produced a stack of white papers from her desk and glided across the room, setting a form on Sydney's desk and continuing to several other students'. "All those now acutely aware that they do not belong in this class, you should fill one out." She eyed Scott appraisingly. "The rest will be on my desk."

The moment the bell rang, Sherry mustered up the courage and prepared for the impending embarrassment. She zipped around the rows of lab benches, determined, and attacked Scott with a hug before he could leave. She felt like she was hugging a tree, a flat one that was soft and warm and smelled vaguely of wet dog fur.

Scott, startled, returned the gesture. She could feel the eyes of her friends watching her in astonishment. "What's this for?"

"Don't even think about dropping bio," she iterated. "Don't do it."


"Can you put your phone away for five minutes?" Mason whined. "Scott can howl if he needs you."

Liam grumbled. "I just feel like I should be doing something."

"You are," Mason insisted. "You're my wing man tonight. And considering the state of my dating life, I need a wing man, co-pilot and a really hot flight attendant."

"Um," Sherry said, her hands cold even in the supposed warmth of her jacket pockets.

"I'm definitely not your hot flight attendant," Liam retorted at the same time. He stood on the opposite side of Mason, occasionally sending awkward looks at Sherry. It seemed that with her sudden change in attitude the other day, he couldn't quite figure out what to make of her.

"Okay, yeah, choices are limited," Mason admitted, "But at least here, you can get drunk."

The silvery back door of the night club swung open. Inside was darkness and hints of pounding music and a strobe light somewhere farther inside. A familiar girl stood at the threshold, crossing her arms disapprovingly at them. "I said I'd let you in," said Hayden. "Not him." Her eyes flicked to Liam.

Mason blinked. "You said I could have a plus one."

"I didn't say plus Liam."

"I'm his flight attendant," Liam supplied helpfully, and Sherry wanted to kick him.

"What?" said Hayden.

"Wing man," Liam explained. He glanced at her expression and sighed. "Forget it. I don't have to go in."

"No, you're coming," Mason insisted. He looked back at Hayden's unhappy face and sighed. "May I bring Sherry, too?"

Hayden swiveled her head, finally noticing the shivering girl's presence. She grinned and pounced on her with a hug. "Sherry! You're welcome anytime. Just... don't drink."

"I wasn't planning to."

Satisfied, Hayden glanced at the boys' bemused expressions and frowned. "I can't believe you're friends with these bozos."

Mason rolled his eyes. "So can we come in?"

Hayden glared at him, and he sighed, pulling out a green bill. "How about me, him... plus fifty."

Still unhappy, Hayden relented, snatching the cash out of his hand. "Welcome to Sinema."

As soon as they were past the beaded curtain inside, Hayden left to work, but Sherry hardly noticed. All she could see was a riot of neon and an assortment of dancing twenty-somethings that reminded her exactly why she avoided school dances.

"We don't look old enough to be here," Liam observed uncertainly. He eyed the part of the club that wouldn't normally appear at a school dance - metal poles and half naked strippers swaying to the music.

"Neither does he," Mason added, motioning to a tall, curly-haired boy that Sherry wasn't sure if she recognized. The boys definitely did, though.

The boy in question, who was dancing with a similarly tall, pretty girl, then turned one-hundred-eighty degrees and began grinding on some other athletic, dark-haired boy.

Liam nudged Mason again. "So is this club mixed?"

He nodded. "Ish."

Sherry shrank into herself. "Why'd you have to bring me?"

"Reasons." Then, Mason, taking it upon himself to go talk to the dancing boy, patted Liam on his shoulder and excused himself.

Sherry, feeling highly uncomfortable, sidled up to Liam. Shouting above the deafening music, she said, "What do we do now?"

Liam stared around the club, seemingly looking for something, and Sherry was uncertain whether he'd actually heard her. His jaw was set in his trademark concentrated look, his eyes scanning the pulsing room intently.

Sherry inched closer to him, her heartbeat picking up. As the deputy sheriff's niece, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly guilty just by standing in this room. And she was certain anybody who actually looked would be able to tell that this fifteen-year-old girl definitely wasn't twenty-one or older. That wasn't even mentioning how out of place she felt. She just wanted to curl up in a ball. Or leave. Or both, preferably.

Finally, Liam began to move and Sherry hastened to catch up, not wanting to be left alone in this breeding ground of claustrophobia. Mason and the boy were sitting down, chatting, but as soon as the boy saw Liam, he jumped up to greet him. But his gaze focused on Sherry.

"I'm Brett," he announced, grinning. With a pointed side-glance at Liam, he said, "You're too cute to be friends with him."

She had no idea how to respond to that. "Um," she stumbled, "Thanks, but, um-"

"Watch your slobbery mouth," Liam bit out, snatching Sherry's left hand.

She froze, not knowing how to react except completely stiffening as everything disappeared but the rough skin of Liam's palm and the way his hand seemed to radiate more heat than was possible for someone in perfect health but maybe it was a werewolf side effect or maybe he really did have a fever and he still hated her and this was all part of his master plan to get her sick and dying-

And then she realized the boys were saying something, unaware of her inner crisis, so she tried to loosen up, tried to smile, and tried to look normal.

"No, I didn't catch anything," Brett was saying.

"No one else in here's like us?" Liam said, uncertainty wavering in in his voice.

"I don't know, dude," he sighed. "Maybe. It's Beacon Hills. What's the difference?"

"It felt different," Liam insisted.

"What do you mean?"

"It felt off. It felt wrong."

Mason joined them, glancing across the room. "Hey," he said, "Uh, do you see that guy?" He pointed to a teenager-or-possibly-adult who lurked by a corner not far away. "He keeps looking over here. Do you know him?"

"Yeah," said Brett. "That's Lucas."

A grin slowly formed on Mason's face and he nodded, straightening his shirt as he left to approach Lucas.

"'Scuse me," Brett said, and then sauntered off to go dance again.

Liam, his hand still gripping Sherry's, sniffed the air, still trying for a scent of something supernatural.

Pressing into him, Sherry wondered, "What are you looking for?"

"I don't know."

Hayden appeared amid the crowd, balancing a tray of green test tubes that Sherry suspected were filled with liquor. "Watch out," Sherry warned, pulling on Liam's arm, but he didn't notice. He knocked right into Hayden, sending the test tubes spilling all over the floor.

"Are you kidding me?" Hayden snapped, her face falling. "These were ten dollars each. The bartender isn't just gonna refill them for me."

"Okay," Liam apologized, "I've got money; I've got money." He felt around his jacket, fishing around. "Twelve dollars, and, uhh... change." He dropped it all into Hayden's hand, but she was not impressed.

She threw the coins back at him. "You still owe me two hundred." Then she noticed Liam and Sherry's enjoined hands, sniffing. "So that's how it is."

Liam immediately let go of her hand, flushing red, and Sherry's heart sank.

"Dropping everything today, huh?" Hayden said. She turned to Sherry. "He's a crap person. Trust me." Then she stalked away.

Liam grumbled. A split second later, his head snapped up. "Something's happening."

He raced through the people, and Sherry, weighing her options, decided she'd rather risk getting clawed to death than to stay among the grinding bodies. She pushed her way after him.

At a secluded part of the night club, or as secluded as a place like Sinema could get, Mason stood backed up against a wall, terrified. A brawl was already taking place. Brett's eyes glowed yellow — why hadn't anyone told Sherry he was a werewolf? — and he threw a muscular male figure across the floor in one swift motion. "Run!" he growled. Mason ran.

Brett swept the other boy - Lucas? - from the ground and pummeled him. As Sherry got closer, she saw spikes, or miniature shark fins, extruded from Lucas's limbs, back, and neck. It was almost as disturbing as reptilian Tracy.

Liam held his arm in front of Sherry, what Sherry realized was meant to be a protective gesture. But she could fight much better unrestrained by a bar. As Lucas slashed his talons into Brett's thigh, Sherry backtracked, retracing her steps through the deafening throngs of people to find Hayden. Luckily, the girl was obvious, arguing with a shirtless bartender.

"Hayden Hayden Hayden," Sherry gasped. "I need a fire extinguisher."

She balked. "Liam set Sinema on fire?"

"No, not yet at least, but please hurry-"

"Is it life or death?"

"Yes yes, it is!"

Suspicious, she clicked her heels toward a far wall and returned with the red canister.

"Thank you ohmygosh," Sherry rushed, and sprinted back to the fight.

Theo, temporarily incapacitated, lay on the floor as Lucas had Liam pinned underneath him.

"Watch out!" Sherry ordered to Liam, and then sprayed foam at Lucas without waiting for him to comply.

Lucas screeched. The foam clouded over his jet black eyes, sending him into a blind frenzy. Liam slammed the flailing creature to the floor just as Scott and Kira appeared.

Kira, in polka-dotted jeans and flaring orange irises, extracted a long metal katana from where it had acted as her outfit's belt, poising it directly above Lucas's head. The girl Sherry usually associated with butterflies and squirrels looked downright murderous.

As she swung her blade forward, Lucas rolled to the side, his barbed arms tucked into his sides. He leapt to his feet once more, kicking out his leg at her. Unswayed, Kira struck again, but Lucas dodged, the broad side of the katana pressing into him benignly.

Kira backed up. She took a running leap and kicked. She spun in the air, her foot knocking Lucas on the side of his bald head. He splayed on the ground and Kira swung her sword up again, a bright sienna fox aura lighting up around her again, just like that night at the sheriff's station. The hologram seemed to mask her face. She spoke out in quick, unintelligible Japanese, and sliced down like an executioner. Her arm froze halfway.

Scott had stopped her, diving his arm under her wrists. Slowly, the fox aura faded, and left Kira blinking in confusion.


Sherry came home expecting Parrish to already be there, but the house was silent. Before she went to bed, she checked her grades one more time, and groaned. Her ninety-four in AP Bio had unexpectedly slipped to an eighty-five. She wanted to kick something. That was nearly ten percent! But she didn't. Angrily, she went to sleep.

At two a.m, she briefly woke up, thinking she smelled something burning. But the smoke detector was silent, so she ignored it and slid back into unconsciousness.